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miscellaneous.
'^TUtTAlRE, GOETHE, AND SCHILLER.
' Sr. George Pulnam recently delivered nn ora-
iiu* before ihe Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard
University, on "TheConnexion between Intellectu-
aland Moral Culture," and he bundles the poets of
iht put and ’l> e present century with a most with-
•ringsttvcrily- Byron and Burn* are truuled ua
’ihair licit require, aud not a* their poetry may mer-
j () and uthera come in fur their share. We do not
frcollect lu have seen Goethe treated with such se. I
verityaa Mr. Putnam uses ; and while we read, wo [
are reminded llmt in litis Stale one of the rival lit-
Vary aucit'lies ol a flourishing religious culiego is
tailed the Goctlieon Suciety, in which we tire lion,
‘tied with membership, and that the disiittgiii.licd
divine »ho presided over the institution delivered
Meulogy upon his great poetic countryman. It
la well, however, lu hear what boih sides have lo
iay, aud thurelbre we copy from the extracts of the
station which we have seen :
TRUTH AND SUCCESS.
Tu.iolcul once the highest point of connexion
between morul und intellectual attainment—the
Jpeof truth. Truth ia the one legitimate object of
all intellectual endeavor. To discover and appre
hend truth, to clear up and adorn it, to establish, and
preset)! and commend it,—these are the processes
■nd the ends of study and literature. To discern
the tilings that reulty are aud how they are, to
dUtinguMi reality from appearance and sham, lo
kuuw and declnru the iruu in outwurd nature, in
jiait time, in the results of speculation, in conscious,
neu and sentiment,—this is the business of uduca-
ledinind. Logic und the mathematics nro instru
ment, fur this purpose, and so is the imagination
just as strictly. A poem, a play, a novel, though a
work al ficl on, must be true; or it is a failure. Its
machinery ntay be unknown to the actual world;
[lint scene may he laid in Ely-ian fields, or infernul
shades, nr Isiry land ; but the law of truth must
preside over the work; it must be the vehicle of
truth,or it tsuuughl and ia disallowed. The Tern-
pet', the Odyssey, und Paradise Lost, derive their
value from their truth; und 1 say this nut upon
utilitarian principles, but according lo the verdict
ekich every Irun soul pusses upon them, conscious.
Ij nr unconsciously. Lofty, holy truth tnudo
beautiful und dear and winning to the responsive
' *rt,—this is their charm, their wealth, their im
Mortality. There is no permanent intellectual suc
cess but in truth iiimiued and brought homo to the ;
the understanding, or the heart.
And for the best success in the putsuil of tiny
Seel, there must he u love ol the object itself. The >
student,ihe thinker, the author, who is true to his,'
incaliu . loves the truth which he would dcvclcpc
and embody. Not for bread, not for fume, prims
rily, ho works. These things may come, und we
'arewelcome; bat truth is higher and dearer than
jhese, (irent things have been done for bread and
[fame, but not the groutesl. Plato, pacing the si
lent groves of tint academy, and Newton, sitting
Llfiuliiy on hi. bedside, undressed, and his fust
Inbroken, rnpi in a problem of fluxions ; Dante so
tting ihu bitterness of exile with tho meditations
Hut live in the Cnrumelia, und Bacon lulling his
%th chill in un experiment to test the preserving
iplitios of snow ; Buvior, a lordlier Adam tltuo
tof Eden, miming the whole animal world in his
nUeum, und reading the very thoughts of God after
tint iu their wondrous meohunism ; Frunkliii aud
Davy wrestling the secrets of nature from their In-
tout hiding place ; Linnaeus studying thu flora of
lire arctic circle m hso: und llmt fresh old man
•Ini.tunics tlie clefts of the Rocky Mountuin with
bis rifle, to catch precisely the lustrous tints of beau-
fyin tho plumngu of u bird;—these men, and such
M they, love truth und are consecrated, hand aud
ks.rt, to tier service. The truth, us she stands in
W. duings, or iu man’s doings, nr iu those
tkuuglu. and affections that love neither form nor
ftccli, but which answer from the deep places of
lie snul—truth, iu her world-poising might or her
•coming trivial ties—truth as she walks thu earth
•tnbodied in visible facts, or moves among the
ipkeresol the mysterious laws that combine a uni-
•erae and spell n to liartnuuy, or ns she sings in
Iks upper heavens Ihe murticulato wisdom which
ktly a profound religion in the soul can interpret—
ruth, in whichsoever of her myriad manifestations
me lias laid hold „f their noble afliuiiies, und
—ought their being into holy captivity ; such men
.B luved her greatly und fondly ; tlie soul of gen.
Ws tsnlways pledged lo her iu a single henru-d und
>»«el affiance, or else It is genius bullied, blasted
**scro»iiod.
v VOLTAIRE.
°h«ite is not read as living and ruling minds
N*Wd. His histories are not referred to us nu-
' mriiies, but luivo becomo notorious rather for
jr lr (’•'Version,cureless,or fraudulent of dules and
***** His name, we tiro ussured, is biased, when
Wkleuby the Historical Prolessor in the lecture
ikttnaul Paris, His poetry, with all its artistic
l*rftctinn, is iki fountain of inspiration or spiritual
* reshnieni to anybody; and the highest French
■ ucs, with a|| ilieic national feeling, have ceased
kgwrify in ||,„ Henriado. His dramas, which are
best tilings, will probably be retained on Ihe
/<• for stime time longer, on account of tho felici*
^Jtf their literary execution and dramatic udnpta-
' His batteries against religion, that bristled
t 1 «o fierce and formidable, are dismantled, nud
11 beyond repair. His philosophical speculations
scarcely a place of refuge left them, except in
' crumbling chateaux of the Fieucli provinces
ere some octogenarian survivors of u gtuceiess
n ■nil muiter in the cars of an uubecdiug work
•last tilings they leu rued—ilia denials of infidel
\v'i '!'* °f Jacobinism,
a .* — '*11 ibis so t Why Ims it turned out thus
™i that great man, so brilliant lu wit, of gills so
!"**, ,*1 hnellectuui activity and productive.
l so immense, nud an influence so wide und in-
pn'kautl Considering the position he once held,
Iwl lue power ho once exorcised, it is uot too much
IV.’-
vois. xXx\i
to say, that Voltaire hoc come to nought. And
why f Mil deficiencies were, no doubt, many und
radical. But one just rouson, nnd a comprehen
sivu one, is, that the law of truth was not in him.
It is uot merely because there was error io many
of Ids opinions: this must happen to all—to com
mon men and great men. Errors of opinion will
nut sink a mun, but iudiflureuce lo truth will sink
any ntnn. It is nut that ho hated truth, or desired
wickedly to propngate falsehoods, but ho did nut
lovo and worship truth. He full not the overaiv.
ing divinity there is in it. He did not distinguish
between it and the plausible and politic. He bad
no fuilh in the heart of anything.
If he had had but a loving faith, only some touch
of a believing spirit, lie had been saved ; fuilh iu
anything—in God, or man, or nuture ; in things
temporal or things oternai in a problem of matlie-
mutics ora Ilullonian theory of theenrth ; in some
conclusion of logic, or some deep uspiruliou of the
soul, in some religion, whether of the Bible, tlu-
Koran, the Shuster ; or of the heart ; iu some
priesthood, whether of Papal appointment, or an
inner, unrecognized and spiritual annoiutiitg from
ubovc ; in some nobleness, whotber by kingly en.
dowment,or a God given patent stamped on the
brow of greatness; in some beauty, whether of
heroic virtue or only a garden fl 'wer; only a faith,
taking any direction, but clinging to somelltius; us
true, and therefore dear and sacred;—then there
hod been something fur him to love and labor for—
lo live and die for—for its own worth to him ; then
he had been a true nnd earnest man, and bis whole
iulellectuul destiny changed. But this loadstar of
the soul was wanting. He never felt its heaven-
ward attraction. The divine principle was nut iu
him, nnd so lie was given over to the sway of his
vanity and lightness, his spite and spleen and all
the puck of infirmities which bis temperament and
position engendered. Hu sinks into the seat of the
. scoffer. His genius goes out in mocking and con.
tompt. Ilis greatness is in dental. His power is
in pulling dwwn. Such a man, by (lie very turn of
bis mind, must be sliulloiv, never profound. He
seeks not the true in thought, but ihe striking, the
available, the effective. The first mind of his age
und projecting vast immediate effect, revolutioniz
ing tile wnr of thinking fur u whole generation or
two, he has yet added nothing to the world’s stock
of knowledge, nor originated u single idea that bears
fruit, nor an influence whereby souls grow larger
nud richer by partaking. He is henceforth no
man's spiritual benefactor. The young mind that
should now choose him as its nourishing father and
highest man, would he stunted to burrenness and
belittled to insignificance. For n great man, the
fir-l intellectual mult of his age, this result I call a
failure.
Goethe and scheller.
I know there are apparent exceptions, but I be
lieve they are apparent only. A most remarkable,
un almost miraculous one, presents itself in the
case of that greut man who lias so long held the
sceptre which fell from the withered hand of Vol.
laire, the German Goethe. If we may venture to
dissent from the idutalrous peuegyrics of some of
tho European and American admirors, and may
abide by the more detailed accounts and calmer
judgments that reach us from the great man’s own
country, and which we are assured prevail there—
with some contradiction indeed, but a contradiction
growing fainter every day—then we may look upon
Goethe as the impersonation for moral indiffer
ence, A gentleman and a courtier, he made his
elegant Eplcurianism conform to the decencies
and graces of the polished and even elevpted socie
ty in Which he moved or which, perhaps, we ought
to say moved round him as its centre. He knew
how loivin tho regard, perhaps even the affection,
of men far belter than himself. But he was re
markably destitute of moral symphlliies, and seems
to have recognised no such tiling as moral obliga
tion. He was cold, selfish, false. Throughout
Germany, his name is almost a synonyms fur disso-
luteness. Of course, both there nnd here, kindred
spirits have a vocabulary by which they can make a
very light matter of bis lieurtless profligacy. They
think it impertinent lo cull his vices by their right
nainesand muke thorn nil element in tho judgment
to be passed upon so great a man. But both there
and here, those persons lo whose apprehension the
inoral law is a reality, and moral purity a trait of at
least equal dignity with poetic talent, will adhere
to their old fashioned notions, even though the
character of Goethe himself be inquestion. With
them blackness must stand us black, and be culled
black. Tito vices which involve treachery und
cold blooded trifling with the peace and virtue of
others; arc of the sort which there is leust occasion
lo pulliute for charity’s sake. With tho eye of an
artist, and tho intruded equanimity of profound self-
love, he could calmly survey the ruin he had
wrought in the hearts that confided in him. He do-
rived tnaierial for poetry from sufferings which he
had him.clf wnntor.ly cuused, and one cun hardly
uvuid the impression, that he inwardly felicitated
himself upon the rich accession to his artistic do-
muin furnished by such precious experiencies. II
this is hursh judgment upon Goethe, tho voice of
his courtesy is answerable for it, and not I.
And yet this bad man—why should I hesitate nl
the expression 1—this bad man, we are assured by
the i:ii:iut< d. was the first poet of bis timo. "All that
we mean,” it bus beer, said, “ by the higher litera
ture of the world, gathers round this man us its ere-
nlur." He knew how lo touch the spring of thought
aud feeling, more in number, more skilfully and
more potently ; than any man iu the two genera-
turns which bis lifetime covered, lie could deal
like n muster with the highest spiritualities, and
hold a mirror to the holiest moral capabilities bid
den in the recesses of the soul. So say bis admi
rers, and they aru too many and strong to bo flatly
contradicted yet.
So then this false ntan Itns succeeded ns a true
poet! Must 1 then surrender my position7 No.
not for a' hundred Goethes. He bus not succeeded
definitely us a true poet ot the highest order. It is
loo soon'to uflirm that point settled in bis favor
against so much contradiction. The sharpness
nnd marvellous reach of bis intellectual eye, the
breadth of his understanding, the compuss of bis
imagination, und bis consummate skill in literary
execution, none will deny. And he bad a power.
Altogether unupproached by any oilier man, to sup
ply by imagination, observation and appropriation;
those moral elements, or the resombluiice of them,
which could have Imd no vital being within himself,
except ns tho reminiscences of blussed suaceptibili.
ties that must have graced his spirit in its youth.
His powerful skill in this, us in other things, tiro
wonderful. That is, lit was a great, nn unequull.
ed Artist,—Artist, that is the term every where Hp.
plied to him—a term which, as applied to literary
tneu, 1 am sorry to find is getting inio some repute
amongst us ns a term of commendation. In Eu-
repo it is generally u term of disparagement, as in-
dictating a writer whose inspiration passed not
through the heart, und whoso lofty sentiments liuve
no home in his own- soul and no expression in iiis
MILLHDttEVlLLE, TUESDAY. NOVEMBER 26, IH44.
NO-9.
discerned. It is found that, after all, he is not the
limit wh»reaches tlie holy of holies in the soul;
tltut though he dazzles lie does not warm, thoogli
lie slim lie does not exalt; that ha is no priest of
God. Already the German heart is setting itself
right in the matter. It lakes no Goethe, but Schil
ler fur ils idol. Its love and enthusiasm run to
Schiller, the true man, the earnest, whole-souled
muu, whose great, glowing heart only just pours
forth its own inbred emotions and aspirings ; the
man to whom a generous affection, and a noble
conception and aim is no more scientific and avail,
able fact, but a vital experience, an inmost and ab
sorbing reality, gushing from Ids soul for very ful
ness. It is hit name, his history, Iiis poetry, not
Goethe’s, that makes the German oyo glisten, and
the Gerinuu breast heave with fond enthusiasm und
exalting sympathies. It is so ; it must and ought
to be so ; it will be more and more, there nnd every
where. Tlie world w ill not separate the man from
bis works, because lie cannot separate himself from
them. The identity, though disgusted for a lime,
will uppeur. Though his bingrspliy were never
written, nor bis name divulged, it will appear, and
both he and Iiis works go to their own place. The
spider cunnot spin the silkworm’s cocuon, though
his separute threads may look as fine and bright in
the sunshine for a while. Tile fulso cannot stand
in place of the true. Whenever und in whomsoev
er thu artest outruns the man, time will outrun lhain
both nnd run them down. When Goethe, and such
as he, shall have come to be admired nnd studied
only by the few for the purpose of a peculiar artistic
culture, Schiller, and such as he, will still be tna-
king their wuy from the heart, blessing and
being blessed, and culling forth glad and lofty res
ponses from all that is noble in human souls
throughout the world.
Napoleon Leaving Pnrb for a Campaign.
In the imperial palace, it wss never known be
forehand. the week, or even the day, when Napo
leon would quit his residence lo luke the command
of his troops. It was invnriubly expected, that ull
the officers, both civil and military, should be rea
dy to follow him at a moment’s notice ; for he
never informed those whom lie wished lo luke with
him, until u few hours liofore Iiis departure; and, as
they k new not the place he would go to, each 01 e
patiently waited until tho Grand Marshal should
communicate the orders of the Emperor. Those
orders once given, the preparations for the journey
were soon mndo ; we were then ready lo follow
Napoleon to the end of the world, if lie had ordered
us.
At the lime to which lam referring he chose to
depart from St. Cloud iu the middle of the night,
accompanied in Iiis carriage by his grand Mur-
shul, and grand Equerry, and passed over, with
the rapidity of light, a space of one hundred and
fifty-French leagues in less than tliirty.six hours.
The order of the journey was as follows :—
On the loft side of the carriage, an aid-de-camp,
on service road, on the light, tho equerry on ser
vice, tlie oilier nid ile-camp, the equerries, tho or.
dorly officers, the Mameluke Rustan, and the do
mestics of tlie suite, accompanied tlie carriage;
while all these were followed by un escort of the
Chasseurs of the guard, and the guides, eummnnd-
ed by an officer. On they precipitated themselves
like a hurricane, in full trot, night ns well as by day
for eight, ten, nnd even twelve leagues, sometimes
without even halting. We, who wero obliged to
follow this whirlwind, during the night above all,
were, us you might suppose, not very well at our
ease, lo places where the road might bo narrow,
we would sometimes run tine upon another, and
with an ardor and zeul that had the appearance of
something snvage in it. Evil to him who was not
a good horseman, or perfectly sure of his horse, for
in tumbling lie would be sure of being trod under
feel by the horses in his roar, before their riders
would be able lo arrest their speed. On went the
torrent,—on we precipitated ourselves, in heat or
iu r. in, on tho ice, across the snow, the dust or the
mist ; lo be always within the reucli of the voice
of our master, or lo obtain one single look from
him—Those who least suffered the futiguj were
the orderly officer, the page, the groom, and twelve
chasseurs of the guard, who ail preceded the car
tinge at about six paces. These not having the
fear of reprimand, iu consequouce of the postilions
regulating their movements by tho pace of their
horses. Napoleon, nowiihstanding, almost con
stantly thought, that the postilions never drove
quite fast enough
"They go along like ducked bens I” he would
exclaim, whilst striking his fist against the side of
tlie carriage, “wo shall never arrive !”
Then lowering one of tho front snail windows
he would thrust out Iiis head,and address himself to
to the postillions.
•‘Get on ! ure you uslcop ! you make no pro
gress, gel oil then !’’
Whenever Napoleon stopped on tho road, the
whole of the suite did the same, ur.d dismounted,
excepting the chasseurs of thu escort, who remain
ed in their saddles. If the Emperor get out of his
Deserted Village—A sad Picture.
It will be remembered llmt the village of Wood,
ville, Miss., wus visited by the yellow levor during
the past season, und llmt death and desolation fol
lowed iu its train. The Woodville Republican
gives the following touching and puthelic descrip
tion of tlie desolation produced by the epidemic :
“Oar lieurl is heavy and ulmosl desola'o, our
spirits die within us, as no sit down and think of
Ihe scenes of the last few weeks. We have just
crawled from the brink of the gruve, and pausing
in feebleness and exhaustion not far from the door
wav, we look around for “old familiar fuces’’—
but wo see them nut. The ejes that beamed upon
us iu joyful welcome, will look upon us no tnore.—
The voices eloquent and harmonious, to which we
loved lo listen, nre still, and tlie hands that spoke
the warm heart’s friendshio in their manly pres,
sure, stitrand cold, nre crossed upon those fuitliful
bosoms whence we have been nccustomed to de.
rive counsel aud encouragement, now as still and
unfeeling as tlie clods that lie above them.
•We call, but they ansuer not again," and love in
all their anguish seemed constrained to inquire,
“Do they love us yet 7”
But the question (alls without an echo, and no
answer comes back from that shore where our
friends that so lately wulked these streets with us,
have gone. We look uround us. Yonder heap
in many a row, lie gathered into one neighborhood
the old and the young—the rich and tho poor; all carriage, four of the guides would dismount fix
the cares and anxieties of life forgotten ; and tlm \ bayonets, present arms,and remain uround him in
tenements tlmt held those fiery spirits are as quiet ) single files ; but uot an officer moved from Iiis
now as if they Imd never been aught save part and { pluce, unless Napoleon gave the word by saying.
and stricken down iu fuil council While •Imtuing bis
feeble vuice lo rouse Ihe droopntg spirit of Iiis
country, could not but he remembered with peculiar
veneration and tenderness. Detraction nus over
awed. The voice even of a just temperate een.
sure was mute. Nothing was remembered but the
lofty genius, the unsullied probity, the undisputed
services, nf Inin who wus no mure. For unco nil
parlies were agreed. A public funeral, a puhlio
monument, were eagerly voted. The debts of the
deceased were paid. A provision «»s made for
his family. The city of London requested llmt the
remains of the great mun whom she Imd so long
loved and honored might rest under tlie dome of
Iter magnificent cathedral.' Bat the petition came
loo late. Everything wus already prepared for lito
interment iu Wcstm nsicr Abbey.
Though men of nil parties Imd concurred in de.
croeing postliumus honors to Chatham, his corpse
wus attended to tho grave almost exclusively by op
ponents of the government. The banner ol tlie
lordship of Chatham was home ity Colonel Bar re.
ultended by the Duke ol Richmond and Lord R >ck■
inglmm. Burke, Suvile and Donning upheld the
pall. Lurd Camden was conspicuous in thu pro
cession. The chief mourner ivns young William
Pitt. Alter the lapse of more limn twenty-seven
years in a season us dark and perilous, his own
shattered frame, aud broken Iteurl wero laid, with
the sunte pomp, in the same consecrated mould.
Clmiliuin sleeps near the northern door of the
Church, iu u spot which Ims ever since been appro
priated lo statesmen, aft the other end of llm same
transept Ims long been to poets. Munsfield rests
there und the second William Pill, and Fox. and
Grattan, and Canning und Wilborfnrce. lu no
other Cemetry do so many greut citizens lie within
so narrow a space. High over those vencruble
graves towers the stately monument of Chatham,
and from above, Iiis own effigy, graven by u cun
ning hand, seems still, with eagle (uce and out
stretched arm, to bid England be of good cltcer,
und to burl defiance at her foes. The generation
which reared that memotial of him lias disappeared.
The time has come when the rash and indiscriini.
natojudgments which his contemporaries passed
on his character may bo calmly revised by history.
And history, while, for t e warning of velmtnout,
high and daring natures, site notes bis mnnv errors,
will yet deliberately prunouuee, tlmt, among the
eminent tnen whoso bones lie ncur his, seurcely
one Ims left a more stainless, aud none a more
splendid name.
Macauly in the Edinburgh Review.
•Jr?.
parcel of llmt dust with which they now mingle.
The terrible disease Ims rubbud us of many of
the very best citizens of which we could boast.—
With the grasp ofau invisible Hercules its almighty
bund came down upon the hearts of men, crushing
out the very spark of life, ere peoplo were well u.
ware that their friends were in danger. Then
came the sound sight of woe, such as our little vil
lage never conceivod of beforo. The anvil ceased
to echo forth its clung, the sledge was unlifted, the
bellows breutbed not, the fire of tho furnace burn
ed out.
The saw, the plane, ur.d the hammer grew still.
Merchants shut up their stores, aud walked borne
to die. No sound canto upon the ear, save the
clink of the hummer, or the grating of the saw, as
the undertaker bustily threw together the lust nar
row withdrawing room of poor mortality. Then
there wus suffering. Disease and deu' It soon bud
a great majority, and the vory few ttiat remained lo
take care of the many sick, looked more like the
ghosts of those who had died, than living men and
women.
People fled their homes in flight nnd consterna
tion. Every thing seemed to parluke of the gen
eral terror. The foliage of the trees turned yel
low, the sky wus of a pulo sickly green, nnd for six
weeks the hollow wind came from the north und
east incessantly, with a dealliliness in its touch e-
nough lo shutter tlie nerves of the hcullhy. Our
streets were deserted.
Tim Grass bid fair to spring up where merry
feet Imd so recently gone down. Yet there wus
one road in which uu grass grew. It led lo tlm
grave yard. Along llmt track llm hearse constant
ly journeyed with its gloomy rumble, followed by
a few friends of those within it, nnd obliged lo slack
its pace again and again to let the tottering inva
lids, that struggled Imrd to follow, come up—poor
half-sick, creatures, expending their last strength
in this lust sud office of friendship, a tiecd soon lo tie
performed for many oflhuin, by others us feeble
us themselves.
But the disease Ims nearly ceased its ravages—
only because there ure no more subjects to ucl up
on. It Ims swept us like fire und whirlwind. Had
it been in New.York city with its teeminc thou
sands, aud been ns I'uiul in proportion as it bus with
us, it would liuve swept off' fifty thousand per
sons.
Encouraging Hints.—Don't he discouraged, if,
in llm out-set of life, tilings do not go smoothly. —
It seldom happens that tlm hopes we cherish for
the future are realized. The path of life appears
smooth aud level ; hut when we travel it. we find
it all up hill, and generally rough enough. The
journey is a laborious one ; aud, whether poor or
wealthy, high or low, we slrnll find it to our disap
pointment if wo build on any other calculation.—
To endure it with U9 much cheerfulness ns possible,
aud to elbow our way through tlm grent crowd,
hoping for little, yet striving for much," is, per.
haps, the best plan. Don’t be divcouruged, if oc.
casiormlly you slip down bv the way and your neigh,
hour trends over you a littlo, or, in other words,
don’t let a failure or two dishearten you. Acci
dents will happen, miscalculation will sometimes
be made ; things will turn out differently from our
expectations slid we may be sufferers. It is worth
while to remember that fortune is like tlm skies in
April, sometimes clear and favorable; and as it
would bo folly to despair of again seeing the suit,
hecausn the dny is stormy, so it is unwise to sink
into despondency when fortune frowns, since, in tlm
common course of tilings, slm may surely be ex
pected tu smile and smile again.
Dismount, gentlemen.'’
If any of llioso who were to have joined him, re
mained in the rear, they sometimes did uot arrive
at bead quarters until a day alter a victory, or per.
Imps the campaign bad ended.—Tales of the camp
and Cabinet, Col. John Montmorency Tucker.
Goethe is an artist—only that, though »o great
I think lie will not always be put foremost among
the true and llm noble poets. Ho was uot a true
man, and therefore,cannot stand there. Already,
though still in tho zenith of his glory. U j« widely
felt that ho U in some sense a splendid impostor;
The radical deficiency in him la beginning to ba
Two aoRTs of Blessings —"It is a blessing to
possess whatono wishes," said some one to an an
cient philosopher, who replied," it is a greater bless-
iug still not to desire what one does not possese."
St. Augustine is by more limn forty years the old.
cat town in tlm United Slates Houses io it standing
yet which are said lo huve been built many year*
before Virginia was colonized,
The Closing scenes lu the Life of Lord Chatham,
Til • Duke of Richmond had given notice of un
address to tlm throne against llm further prosecu
tion of hostilities with America. Chathum Imd,
during some time, absented himself Item Parlia
ment, in consequence of Iiis growing infirmities.
He determined to appear in Iiis place on this occn.
stun, aud tu declare tlmt Iiis opinions were decided
ly at variance with those ol the Rockingham party.
Ho wus in u state of great excitement. His med
ical attendants were uneasy, and strongly advised
him to calm himself, und to remain at home; But
he wus not tube controlled. His son William, and
Iiis son-in-law Lord Mahon, accompanied him tu
Westminster. Ho rested himself in the Chancel
lor’s room till the debate commenced, aud then,
leaning on his two young relations, limped lo Iiis
seat. Tho slightest particulars of that day weru
remembered, and linvo boon carefully recorded.
He bowed, it wus remarked, witli great courtliness
lo those peers who rose to make wuv for him nnd
Iiissupporlets. His crutch was in his hand. He
wore, us was his fashion, a rich velvet coat. His
legs were swathed io flannel. His wig was so
large, and iiis face so emaciated, that none of his
fountres could he discerned except Ihe high cutve
if the nose, und his eyes, which still retained a
gleam of the old fire.
When the Duke of Richmond had spoken, Chat
ham rose. Fur some time his voice was inaudible
At length his lone became distinct aud his action
animated. Here and there Iiis hearers caught u
thought or an expression which reminded them ol
William I’iit. Bui it was clear tltut it was nut him
self- He lost the thread of his discourse, hesitated
'epuuted tin; same words several limes, and was so
onfused, llmt in speaking of the Act of Settle
incut, lie could not re call the name of the Electress
Sophia. The House listened in solemn silence
ind with the nspcct of profound respect nud coin
passion. The stillness wus so deep thut the drop-
,ling of a handkerchief would have been heard
rile Duke of Richmond replied with greut tender
ness and cuurlosy ; but, while lie spoke, the old
man was ebserved lo bo restless and irritable
I’he Duke sal down. Chutbum stood up ugnin
pressed his band on bis breast, and sank down in
in apoplectic fit. Three or four lords who sat near
tint caught him iu bis full. The House broke up
.n confusion. The dying tnnn was carried to the
residence of one of the officers of Parliament, and
: wus so far restored as lo bo uble lo bear a journey
io Hayes. At Huyes, after lingering a few weeks
lie expired in bis seventieth year. His bed was
wutched to tlie lust, with anxious tenderness, by iiis
wife and children ; und bo well deserved their cure
Poo often haughty and wayward lo others, to them
lie bad been utmost effeminately kind. He Imd
through life been dreaded by Iiis political opponents
and regarded with more awe than love even by his
political associates. But no fear seems to liuve
mingled with affection which Ins fondness, con
staully overflowing in a thousand endearing forms
had inspired in the little circle at Hayes.
Chatham, at thu lime of bis deeeuse, bad not, in
both Ho ises of Parliament, ten personal adherent
Half the public men of the age Imd been estrang
ad from him by Ins errors, and the other half by
tlie exertions which he had made to repuir Iiis cr
rors. His last speech hud been an ulluck nl once
on tho policy putsued by tlie government, and oil the
policy rucuinmetidcd by the position. But death ul
once restored him to his old pluce iu the nffeciion
of Iiis country. Who could hear unmoved of the
fall of that which had been so great, and which
had stood so lung 7 Tlie circumstances, ton, seem
ed rather to belong lo the tragic stage thun to tea
life. A great statesman, full of yenrs and honors
> led forth to Ihe seaato-housc by a sun uf rare hope
Knighting of King Louts Philippe.—Tho fol.
lowing is an interesting description of ilic investi
ture of the King of lhe French ns u Knight nf the
Most Noble Orderuf tlie Garter, by Queen Viclo.
riu, at Windsor Castle, on tlie 12ili of October.
A chapter ol the Most Noble Order of the Gur-
ter having been summoned yesterday uflernoon at
half past two o’clock, the Knights’ Companions as.
■ambled iu the guard chamber, and were robed by
Mr. Hunter und Mr. Edo, in their ningniricenl
mantles of purple velvet with tlie crimson velvet
hoods.
Tho Prelate and the Chancellor of the Order
wore their mantles of purple velvet, and also the
badge of the Order.
Tlie Register, Garter King of Arms, nnd the
gentleman Usher of tlie Black Rod appeared in
their mantles of crimson suliu, and woru tlioir
chains nnd badges, Garter King of Arms ulso curry
ing bis sceptre.
The sword of slate was borne by Sir William
Martins, gentleman usher.
When tlie Queen was about to enter the throne-
room, tlie knights passed from the guard chamber,
liuving been summoned by Garter King of Arms,
and passed into the grand recupiion room, and were
there arranged, und waited until the Sovereign and
Iiis Royal Highness Prince Albert were iri (lie
throne room. They were then culled over by Gar-
ter, nnd with the officers of tlie order preceeded in
to the presence of the Sovereign.
The sovereign being seated in the chair of state,
the knight companions took their respective souls
al the table, the Prelato standing on the right hand
f her Majesty, the Chancellor on the left ; the
Register and Black Rod stood at the bottom of the
table.
Tlie Chancellor then acquainted tlie Sovereign
that Sir Charles George Young, kuiglil, garter prin
cipal king of arms, was attending ul tlie door, und
humbly prayed to bo admitted to take the oath of
(lice us chief officer of arms of this most noble or-
tier. Garter, in his mantle and wearing the chain
nd badge of iiis office, was then, by '.lie Queen’s
command, introduced, and knelt on the left bund
ido ncnr tlie Sovereign ; the oath wus then ad
ministered to him by the Chancellor. Garter, ris
ing, mnde Iiis obeisance to the Sovereign, nnd hav
ing kissed bands, withdrew to his place ul llie but
tom of l be table.
The Chancellor then, by command of her Majesty,
read u new statute, dispensing with ihe existing sin-
tucs in us fur us might be required for lito especial
purpose therein mentioned, decreeing, and enjoin-
ng that bis Majesty Louis Philippe, King of the
French, be declared a knight of tlie Most Noble
Order of the Garter, nny stature, decree, rule, or
usage,to tlie coutrary, notwithstanding.
Thu King of the French was thereupon, by tlie
Sovereign’s command, conducted from Iiis Mujes-
try’s apartments to the Chapter Room, between the
wo senior knights companions preseni, viz; Iiis
Royal Highness Prince Albert and Ills Royal High
ness the Duke of Cambridge, preceded by Garter
(bcuriiig the ensigns of the orner upon u crimson
velvet cushion,) and by Black Rod.
On entering the Chapter Room, Iiis Majesty was
received by tlie Queen und the knights companions
standing, und wus seated in a chair of Stute on the
right hand of her Majesty.
The Queen (hen announced to the King of the
French that Iiis Majesty hud been declared elected
a knight of tlie Must Noble Order of the Uurler.
Gutter, kneeling, presented the garter to the
Sovereign, nnd her Majesty, assisted by bis Royal
Highness Prince Albert, and Iiis Royal Highness
the Duke of Cambridge, buckled it on thu left leg of
the Kirtg, the Chancellor pronouncing ihe minium
lion.
Garter next presented, in like manner, the ri
band with the George, and the Queen, assisted as
before, put tlie same over thu left slinkier of lilt)
King, tlie Chancellor pronouncing thu udmoiii-
tion.
Her Majesty thereupon gavu the necuilude to the
King of the French, and Iiis Majesty received the
congratulations of uuuli of tint Knights Companions
present, passing uround the tuliiu and shaking hands
witli each.
'Pile knights uf the most noble order present
wore:—His Royal Highness Prince Albert. Iiis
Royal Highness ihe poke of Cambridge, the Duke
of Ruiiuud, the Duke of Wellington, the Marquess
of Anglesey, the Duke of Devonshire, tint Marquess
of Exeter, tlie Duka of Bucclouuli, the Marquess of
Lansdowns, the Murquess of Westminister, the
Duke of Beuufort, tlio Duke of Buckingham, nnd
tile Murquess of Suilsbury.
Tlie officers of ihe nriler present were :—The
Prolate, llie Bishop of Winchester, iIn; Chancellor,
the Bishop of Oxford ; the Regisiet, the Hon. anil
very Rev. the Dean of Windsor ; Gurior King of
_ __«f—NiniW
Into'
led wi
ti(mined With ‘jptld, The ohidnoTt
Q men end his Mijnstjr Louis PMIIlipp* i
curved nud gilt, and covered with purple velvet, as
were also the scats of (he various knigtlte.
O.i the steps of the throne, which her Maj
whs seiiteil, stood M. Guizot and Sir Robert
also tlie Earl of Aberdeen, Admiral de Mackae,
General Atiiulin, General Rumigoi,Colonel Domed,
Count de Jurnuc.uud oilier gentlemen ol the KiagV
suite.
At the other end of the Garter.Room; oil one
side were sealed, during the august ceremony, bar
Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, her Royal
Highness tlie Duchess of Cambridge, and the He
reditary Grand Duchess ol Mecklenburg Strelitz’;
and on the opposite side were seated his Royal
Highness the Duka deMonlpensier and hts Royal
Highness the Hereditary Grand Duko of Mecklen-
liurg Strelitz.
Tlie Countess cf Gainsborough, lady in waiting;
Lady Charlotte Duudiit, lady in waiting on IM
Duchess of Ken!; Lady G. Bathurst, in waiting on
ihe Duchess of Cambridge ; the Lord Steward, the
Lord Chamberlain, the Captain of the honorable
corps of Gentlemen at-Arms, the Treasurer of tho
Household, the Comptroller of the Household, Lord
Byron, Lord in waiting; Sir George Couper, In
waiting on the Duchess of Kent; and Baron Knees,
beck, in wailing on the Duchess of Cambridge,
stood behind the royal circle. All the officers of
the household appeared in their full dress official
costumes.
Viscum t Sydney, lord in waiting on the King ;.
Lord Charles Wellesley (clerk marshal), equerry
in waiting, intended ihe King from his apartments,
nnd stood near his Majesty during Ihe oeremony.
The King w as habited in a uniform of dark blue,
with gold epaulettes and appointments. Tho Queen
appeared in the mantle of Ihe order o( the Garter,
wearing the motto " Honi soil qurmaly pense," as
n brnco'et. Her Mujesty also wore her splendid
diamond tiara. Soon lifter the King had resumed
bis sent, after the conclusion ol tlie ceremony, the
Queen rose, and taking the arm of her illustrious
guest, accompanied Iiis Majesty to his own apart*
menu,followed by Prince Albert,and preceded by
llie Lord Chamberluin nud (lie Lord Steward, the
pages of honor in waiting bearing her Majesty’s
train.
The Queen’s honorable corps of Gentlcmen-at-
Arms were present at the ceremony. The Hon-
urub e Sir E. Butler, lieutenant; Mr. H. Robinson,
standard bearer; Mr. J. B. Curling, clerk of the
cheque ; nnd Sir R; Smith were also in attendance.
Thu honorable emps formed the guard of honor in
llie apartments of ihe King of the Frenclqand lined
the Queen’s drawing-room as well as the chapter-
room.
The Yeomen of the Guard wero on duty near the
grand staircase, under the command of the Earlof
Beverly, captain of the corps ; Mr. G. P. Lee, tlie
lirulenunt ; Captain Sadler, exon in waiting ; and
Mr. Ellcrilmrpe, clerk of tho cheque.
A Guard ofhonor from the Scots rustlier Guards,
with the band of the regimont was on duty within
the grand quadrangle, and received the Royal Pam.
ily with the usual honors.
After tlie iuvosiitute the knighle and officers of
tlm order, the Indies and gentlemen of the royal
suites, nud the officers in wailing on the occasion,
partook of u dejeuner.
...... _ ling tlie «il»e* iu Ills pockst.
Arms, Sir Charles Young-; ami (be Gcuiletunn j the beiieGlsof science!
New Orleans Guessing Institute.
Mnenotkchey eclipsed—New England ahead
the "Professors” nowhere.—A seedy son of New
England found himself, recently,all alone, unknown
und "hard up," in New Orleans. Of course he
soon scl about guessing sumo way lo keep out of
the scrape ; und, before he had quite whittled his
stick away, be became ubsorded in the inception of
a grand thought.—li seems,sitting dutvn lo guess,
bis uslule bruin made a plunge, at once, among the
metaphysical and scientific ramifications of guess
ing : und, not lung after, lie might have been ob.
seivetl, with a sober suit of twinkle in his eye,
marching off’along the "Levee” apparently looking
foru house lo let, humming—
Yankee Dandle coins along !
When fortune lulls distressing,
There's nothing like a Yankee tong,
And rcientifn: gueBeing.
Eurly next dny, our hero and another odd look
ing genius were seen on u ludder, nailing up n broad
strip ol eun-ass ull across the front of a house on
the levee ; und the job being completed, there was
displayed in flaring, sprawling, struggling, bro-
kon-bucked, decapitated, knock-kneed, round,
shouldered, bow-legged, limping letters, Roman,
German, Hebrew, caligrapbic,chirographic, Ara
bian, Amcricun und poibook-ian letters:
NU UULEENS 0ESSIN0 INS1T00T.
GE8SINQ TAUT IN ONE LESSEN.
Only 25 five cents.
Thu tiling produced n senation, at once, among
sailors, pedlars, levee laborers, and ail aorta of
stragglers. Our professor borrowed un old rotten
awning, bung it up, und divided his room into two,
pul his assistant ul the door to take in quarters,
turned u tin cup insido down in the middle of an old-
rickety table, got a vial of vinegar, pot of tar, a hot-
ile of whiskey, und various other well known
odoriferous affairs arranged around him ; and with-
u black sknli-cup on his liuad, and a red slick in hit
hand, he mnde no hud “splurge" at the representa
tion ul'n modern Fnusl. Madame Lud might have-
taken n iu-son from him (“you underiland me
now '!” ) und Herr Alexander should have seen
him. He drew a mystic ring on the ceiling with
charcoal, filling it up with most indiscribable "cur
licues," right over the table, and business soon corn#
meuced.
In struggled an open-moutb inquirer after the-
mysteries of guessing.
‘•Stranger good morning; walk up and pro
scribe yourself as it true inquirer after the irrevo-
Intinu*of Gusseulugy. Put your hind upon the-
convened tin cup. Very well. Lift right hand
to the ceiling, nnd fix your eyes upon the magie
circle. So. Now,if you wink or remove your
eye, you’ll ruin thu hul business, stranger ; so,
jest hold still. Now I percede lo provoke the
guessing -peril tu descend upon you.
" W hni do you smell 7”
‘•Vinegar."
“Crimini jingo ! you lorn fast ! What’s this/"
••Turn's tur.”
••Right again, my pupil; what’s this!”
••Brimstone.”
• G.mil; you envelope the family raaly amaz
ing ! Gin you guess what this is 7"
••Whiskey, by (bunder !”
•‘All creation ! how quick you take it! aro you
sure its whiskey 7”
"Sure ! well, I recon !”
••You'd belter tosto it und see. It it whiskey 1"
‘•Well, ii is.”
“ I'nken good swig, then; you’ll do, stranger;
you’re ready to graduate Coine in, next. Hallo !
mister don’t tuku that bottle away."
One after another, as fast as he could dispose of
ilu ni, tlie professor found his customers sideling
hall shtly iu upon him all dny long, and when,
now und ihun, duo would exhibit a belligerent spi*
rit, between good humor and whiskey, tlie New
England magician still managed lo send him ofT
satisfied. Every body coming out was questioned
Ity the eager crowd iu wailing as to "whnt sort of
u stmw it wus anyhow 7" and Ihe answer was pret.
i> generally the sail.e : “First rate, end no mis.
take ; and the last experiment is worth half the
money !"
I n<> professor counted Itie receipts that night,
mid finding n round sum lu help him on Weil,sold
Ids "insiiioot” fur a premium to his enterprising
ussisiiiirt; und tho next morning he was off, jing-
, aud blessing devoutly